


Suburgatory

by LinneaKou



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Suburbia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-11 04:09:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16468433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinneaKou/pseuds/LinneaKou
Summary: First-time homeowners Phichit and Chris discover there's more to living in suburbia than any TV show ever prepared them for.(Alternatively: Phichit Chulanont vs. the homeowners association)





	Suburgatory

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ken_ichijouji (dommific)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/gifts).



> There's mention of an alpha rut fairly early on, but it's not explicit!
> 
> Written for Dommi, who requested: "Omegaverse romantic comedy shenanigans. Prefer Alpha Yuuri and Alpha Phichit please! Look we all know what pairings I want, why say it again."
> 
> This is the first omegaverse I've ever written. I TRIED.

Buying a house is a big deal.

There’s the financial stuff to deal with. The mortgage, the loans, the hunting and if you’re lucky, you get a great agent to help you out. You have to inspect the property and the actual house itself. You need to identify problem spots. You have to deal with pricing.

Buying a house is a _big. Deal._

So now that everything is said and done, the moment doesn’t feel real as the realtor hands Phichit the keys and Chris a bottle of celebratory wine. Chris looks like he’s more in the moment, shaking hands with the realtor and hefting the bottle. It’s a good bottle, as far as Phichit can tell. He’s too busy staring down at the keys in his hand to even really notice the label.

“You’ve been standing there staring at the keys for a while, love,” Chris says, snapping Phichit out of his daze. “How about we open her up.”

“ _Ahhh_ ,” Phichit says, and he’s already got his phone out. “Okay. Rolling.”

Chris laughs, and the Instagram video - captioned _NEW HOUSE YO_ \- gets seven hundred likes in the first day after it’s posted.

 

Between Phichit and Chris plus a rotating roster of their friends, they get all the furniture moved in and set up in several hours’ work. The people who stay through noon get treated to lunch, and they pop the cork on a bottle of champagne to go with their pizza. It’s a great Sunday.

Chris picks up the pets from his sister’s apartment after breakfast Monday morning. Over the next week, shelves are secured into the walls and cabinets are filled. Phichit goes grocery shopping, they DIY some plumbing (successfully! Take that, snobs!) and cook their first real dinner on Wednesday, after several days of takeout. Chris finally pops the cork on the Closing Wine, and they toast to settling in.

Chris goes back to work - he’d taken some vacation time for the move - and Phichit sets up his home office so he can telecommute. Life resumes, and there’s a little adjusting to be done but ultimately it’s bliss. Phichit had never thought the domestic life would be the best thing to happen to him, but… well, he’d been convinced that he’d never be mated either. And yet, here he and Chris are with matching marks on their bonding glands and matching rings on their fingers. In a _house_.

Slowly, they make it their own. Over many a weekend, they paint each room one by one and arrange it to be _just right_. Outside, the winter hangs on to its bitter and soggy grip on the region. A sullen spring dawns, bringing with it longer days and more sunlight. The April showers give way to the promised May flowers, along with a _lot_ of grass growth.

Phichit keeps _meaning_ to cut the lawn, for sure, but every time he gets some free time or a weekend to dedicate to yard work, it rains on him. He and Chris had bought a secondhand lawnmower off one of their neighbors in the previous month, and they have the gas and everything but there’s never a chance to _use_ it.

So okay, it’s early May and their grass is a little overgrown. Big deal. Woop woop. Still, when Phichit finds a bunch of notices stuck to their front door and stuffed in their mailbox throughout the week, he can’t help but be annoyed. Plus, it’s the run-up to his rut week, so he’s already in a pissy mood that even Chris can’t soothe.

So really, it’s not his fault, what happens on Trash Night; he’s just dragging the recycling out to the curb for pickup the next day when he sees the random-ass dude crouching on _his_ lawn with a ruler.

The man’s life is spared thanks to Chris’s timely arrival with the garbage can, and Phichit has a split second to regret that he _had_ to fall for an omega that was taller and broader than him as he’s being dragged back before he can _dislocate this dude’s EVERYTHING with his bare hands_.

“Hi there,” Chris calls, and _how_ is he so calm? There is an _intruder on their lawn!_ “Can we help you?”

“Oh,” the man says, straightening up. He’s much older, shorter than Phichit, and very round in the middle, and he’s wearing a _windbreaker_ over _khakis_ what even-- “Hello there, neighbors! I’m with the homeowners association!” He sticks out his hand, and Phichit gets a whiff of his pheromones - _alpha, mated, has whelps_ \- and growls.

The man freezes. “Ah,” he says delicately. “Okay then.”

“What does the HOA need from us?” Chris asks, keeping his grip on Phichit’s arm.

“Oh, well,” the alpha says, raising his ruler. “Your lawn is over regulation length.”

That shuts down the alpha part of Phichit’s lizard brain. “Our _what_.”

“Your lawn,” the stranger says, smiling benignly. “You haven’t been trimming it! It’s grown too long, and we’ve been sending you notes to cut it before we have to fine you!”

“Our law-- you-- _fine?_ ” Phichit sputters. “Seriously? It just rained!”

“Yes, which is why you need to cut it before it rains again on the weekend!”

“We’ve been a bit busy,” Chris says, his tone very diplomatic. “Both of us have full-time jobs, and so on. You understand.”

“Ahh, no can do!” the alpha says, wagging the ruler at them. “Your home is your pride!”

 _I’ll show you pride_ , Phichit thinks, and Chris squeezes his arm.

“We’ll try and get it cut before the weekend, but we’re both still very busy. Can’t make any promises,” Chris says.

“Okay then!” the alpha says brightly, and he wanders off. Phichit keeps him in sight until he disappears down the block.

“Good grief,” Chris says, finally letting Phichit go. “You reek of hostility, go shower.”

“I don’t wanna,” Phichit grumbles.

“Go shower or you’re sleeping in the den. I don’t need to be smelling your angry pheromones all night.” Chris pats him on the head and takes the recycling from him. “Go bathe or else.”

Phichit doesn’t want to leave Chris out alone, but…

 _Damn alpha brain_. He forces himself to go back inside and, once he’s locked himself in the main bathroom, he cranks on the fan for ventilation. Everything feels too hot.

 _Rut came early_ , he realizes hazily. _Shit._ A shower isn’t going to help much.

Chris figures it out once he’s back inside from taking out the bins, and he preemptively calls into his workplace to let them know that his scheduled week off is getting moved up before Phichit drags him into their bedroom and refuses to let him leave.

 

They find another grass length notice (with a polite reminder about the _fine_ ) taped to their door after Phichit’s rut ends, and Phichit finally cranks up the lawnmower to cut the grass right away. The notices stop after that.

For a while.

 

They get into a habit of mowing the lawn every other week to avoid the smiley alpha - Frank, they learn his name is Frank - poking around their lawn all the time. Phichit finds it annoying as all hell - who is this guy, bothering them about their grass’s length? Who is it bothering?

Some of their neighbors, a nice middle-aged couple with teenaged kids, fill them in at one of the first block parties of the warm season.

“Frank is… hyper-diligent,” the beta husband Beto says, handing Phichit a plated bratwurst. “He only works part-time, so he spends the rest of his day stalking the neighborhood and nitpicking.”

“What even _for_?” Phichit wonders, hunting for the honey mustard. “There have to be better hobbies.”

“Well, the HOA really wants the neighborhood to win the award for best subdivision in the city,” Beto explains. “We’ve come close but it’s never actually happened.”

“What do we win if we come in first?” Phichit asks, already preparing to be underwhelmed.

Beto shrugs. “Nothing, really. We get a marker on the subdivision sign and that gets photographed for the city newspaper. That’s about it.”

“Th-- that’s so _stupid_ ,” Phichit can’t stop himself from saying, incredulous.

Beto laughs. “Yeah, but Frank’s mostly harmless. We just let him be.”

Phichit is not one of those people who can do that. “How long do you have to be a resident before you can join the HOA?” he asks, and Beto grins.

“Oh, you can join right now, no worries.”

“Excellent,” Phichit says, an idea hatching in the back of his mind.

 

The first thing that happens when Phichit approaches the HOA for his Evil Plan is someone pissing him off again.

“You have a problem with our _shed?_ ” he demands, gobsmacked.

“We don’t allow sheds,” says the beta woman who’d brought it up. She has a vaguely pug-like face and what appears to be a permanent pout. “They’re unsightly.”

“That’s where we keep our _lawnmower_ ,” Phichit says. “You know, to keep the grass trimmed to the appropriate length? It’s behind a fence and everything!”

“Who knows what’s really in there,” says an older omega man, glowering. “You could be cooking drugs in there.”

Phichit stares as everyone makes rumbling noises. _This is going to be harder than I thought_.

 

The shed comes down, the lawnmower and other equipment migrate into the garage. A few months pass and the garage becomes more and more crowded until it’s so unbearable that Phichit reassembles the shed, moving it fully into the backyard and out of the sight of any pedestrians in the front. No one bothers them about it.

 

Near the end of the summer, Phichit and Chris take a two-week vacation to Thailand. It’s a lovely trip; they visit Phichit’s parents and stay with one of his sisters and her family. Phichit spoils his nieces and nephews, and drags Chris all over Bangkok to take in as many of the familiar sights as possible before they hop on the first of two flights back home.

They’d asked not-so-little-anymore Yuri Plisetsky to drop in on the pets while they were away, and despite his prickly nature, the kid was a good housesitter. He’d even brought in all the mail.

Along with a pile of HOA notices about the _fucking grass_.

_Frank._

“I’m going to fight him,” Phichit grouses as he lays on the den floor, but it’s hard to sound menacing when you’ve got three hamsters crawling on your chest. “I’m going to punt him into space.”

“Of course, darling,” Chris says indulgently.

 

It takes time for Phichit’s plan to come to fruition. Years, actually. Lots of things happen in the meantime. For starters:

  * A _Flappy Bird_ ripoff game goes viral and then, just as quickly, it dies.
  * Chris sets the old grill on fire. He claims it’s an accident, but he’s all too quick to show Phichit the replacement he’s interested in.
  * Phichit’s other sister has two more kids, both nephews.
  * Disney reboots Spider-man again.
  * _Supernatural_ finally ends its run on TV.
  * Viktor and Yuuri finally move out of their apartment and into a little split-level house down the street from Chris and Phichit.
  * Three celebrity couples form, marry, and split up.
  * Viktor convinces Yuuri to get another dog, bringing the grand total up to five.
  * A local state politician is discovered cheating on his mate and subsequently loses reelection.
  * Yurio graduates high school and ends up going to the community college in the next town over. He continues house-sitting when Phichit and Chris leave town.



All the while, Phichit conducts his shadow campaign to - wait for it - _take over the HOA_. It’s really simple, actually. He just turns on his million-watt personality and befriends _every. Single. Neighbor. In the subdivision._ He hosts holiday parties, he volunteers as crossing guard for the elementary school on his days off work, and in one memorable incident where one of Viktor and Yuuri’s dogs managed to get out of their yard, he led a team of searchers that eventually found her digging up a neighbor’s garden. Every time someone new moves into the neighborhood, he knows about it. He runs the subdivision’s official Facebook page and even starts an Instagram account for it. He already does this kind of social media coordination for work, this is really not a big deal.

Seriously, _Chris_.

“Of course it’s not,” his mate agrees as they take a leisurely stroll around the cul-de-sac. Children are out playing in the street, and the _KEEP OUR PUPS ALIVE, DRIVE 25_ signs that Phichit fundraised for are everywhere in the neighborhood. Passing by one makes him smile with pride every time.

Phichit is about to retort when he notices something that _snags_ his interest. “Oh,” he says softly as they stop in front of one of the older houses in the neighborhood. “That is a _lot_ of crabgrass,” he says, snapping a shot of the yard with his phone. “I’m going to have to--”

Chris snorts.

Phichit gives him a sideways look. “ _What_.”

“You’re going to have to what?” Chris says, his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Bring it up at the next HOA meeting? Stuff their mailbox with notices? Darling, I regret to inform you that you’ve become the very dragon you set out to slay.”

Phichit freezes. “Oh shit.”

“Yep.”

“Oh _shit_.”

“Mmhm.”

“You’re right.”

“That happens occasionally,” Chris nods.

Phichit sits down on the sidewalk, unable to jerk himself out of a thousand-yard stare. “I’m turning into _Frank_ ,” he whines.

“No, you’re not,” Chris says, bending down to tug Phichit to his feet again. “I don’t see you laying on their lawn with a ruler. Besides, one of my duties as your mate is to inform you when you’ve become the mask, or something.”

Phichit makes a noise that’s a cross between a moan and a squeak.

“There there,” Chris says, patting his back. “Let’s go home for that glass of wine, and you can think things over.”

 

Phichit… has made a mistake. Getting so involved in the politics of the homeowners association has completely taken over his life.

To make up for it, he drags Yuuri into it. Of course. Yuuri only complains a little, but it becomes extra buddy-buddy time with Phichit, and having Yuuri there to riff on the proceedings of each meeting makes it easier for Phichit to surgically remove every. Single. Spore. Of _Frankiness_ from his being. And, to make things _hilarious_ , the year Yuuri joins the HOA squad is the year that they finally, _finally_ win the coveted Neighborhood Of The Year award.

The photo of Frank standing next to the neighborhood sign (with the added NEIGHBORHOOD OF THE YEAR marker) is cut out of the newspaper and framed. Frank has actual tears in his eyes in the photo. It never fails to make Phichit laugh.

 _Even better_ , though, is when Frank announces at the next meeting that he’s retiring from leading the HOA. Phichit can barely keep a straight face as everyone politely claps for his farewell speech and ushers him onto greener pastures.

Plus, the look on Yuuri’s face when everyone votes for him to succeed Frank is priceless.

“So,” Phichit says as everyone clears out, leaving Yuuri sitting at the table with a stunned expression still plastered all over him. “How do you feel about crawling around in other people’s lawns and measuring their grass to make sure it fits _regulation_ length?”

Yuuri just groans, and lays his head on the desk. “I didn’t want this.”

“You’re the hero we deserve,” Phichit says, and ducks when Yuuri throws an empty coffee cup at him. “The _hero that Gotham needs_ ,” he adds.

“This isn’t Gotham,” Yuuri moans. “It’s suburban hell.”

And, well, he’s not _wrong_. But that’s the fun part.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before Supernatural's final season was announced. One other prediction on that list has come true since posting. I may go mad with this power.


End file.
